Truckers
by HepCatRaven
Summary: Modern day newsies as truckers instead of newspaper vendors.


Truckers  
  
Frank let go of the button and listened for an answer. He pushed it again after getting no response and held it down as he spoke. "Racetrack409. Do ya read me? Racetrack409, come in, ovah."  
  
Anthony jerked back into conciousness, his feet falling from the dashboard, his hat slipping off the back of his head. Grabbing at his intercom, he frantically mashed the black button. "Racetrack409 heah, what's ya want? Ovah."  
  
Frank pushed the brim of his hat up with a thumb and grinned, knowing he had awakened his friend. "Cowboy89 heah, Race. Wahtcha up to?"  
  
Anthony growled at his radio. "I /was/ sleepin'."  
  
"I know." Came the cocky response.  
  
He rolled his dark eyes and scratched his forehead with a crooked fingernail. "Look, whadda ya want? I got 19 hours ta get dis stuff ta Virginia an' I ain't even half-way dere yet--"  
  
"Ah, blow it outcha ear. Enough wid da formalities, I wanted ta know somethin'."  
  
Anthony waited. "Yeah?" He finally prompted.  
  
Frank grinned again and shifted his weight to make his seat more comfortable. "I need ta know who's doin' da Entenman's."  
  
Anthony threw his hand in the air dramatically. "Well how da heck'm I s'possed ta know?!"  
  
"Well, you /are/ da man wid da plan, Anth."  
  
"I am at that, ain't I?" He sat back, hand shooting behind his back and retrieving his hat. He placed it in it's rightful place again, atop his coal black hair. "Why don't cha ast Swifts?"  
  
Frank thought for a second, then shrugged. "Okay den. I will. 10-4, Race."  
  
Anthony let a smile slip onto his thin lips. "10-4, Cowboy."  
  
"Swift129. Swiiiiiftyyyyyy!" Travis scampered to his desk. "Yeah?" He replied, rifling through papers on his desk.  
  
"Who's got Entenman?"  
  
Travis smiled and scanned over the form in his hand. "Sounds like a personal problem ta me, whoevah it is." He could hear the person on the other side groaning.  
  
"Dat was sad. Dis is Cowboy—"  
  
"Like I couldn't tell." He muttered.  
  
"—an' I needed ta know who's got da Entenman's."  
  
Travis fell into his chair and spun around, grabbing the intercom as he spun by. "Why should I tell youse?"  
  
"Travis..." Frank growled low in his throat.  
  
"Okay, okay." Travis chuckled to himself and gazed down at his ever- growing mound of paperwork. "It's Brigham."  
  
"Rover99?"  
  
"Yup, dat's him."  
  
Frank nodded knowingly. Knew it... "Kay, t'anks Trav."  
  
"Shoah t'ing kid. Ovah an' out." Travis let go of the intercom, letting it drop to the desk again.  
  
-----  
  
The small bell over the door to the homey diner rung out annoyingly. Paolo looked up from his steaming cup of coffee and grinned. "Heya Frankie!" He called out.  
  
Frank ran his gaze over the room, his eyes falling on his Spanish friend. "Hey Paolo! Got room in dat booth fa one more?"  
  
"'Coise! C'mon ovah."  
  
Frank strutted over to the booth and threw himself down onto the vinyl seat.  
  
A gum-chewing waitress glanced up from her orders, face lighting up. Grabbing up a stubby pencil and a pad of lined paper, she lept over. "Hi there, Frank." She said seductively, twisting her brown hair around an index finger.  
  
Frank smiled up at her. "Heya goily."  
  
Paolo chugged the rest of his coffee, slamming the mug down on the table to clear the sparks flying between the two. "Hey Sarah." He said when the two glared at him.  
  
"So, the usual?"  
  
Frank nodded and watched her flounce off to the kitchen.  
  
Paolo rolled his eyes, pushing his cup to the edge of the table. He lifted his gaze to the door as three more men entered the diner.  
  
"Kenny! Issac! Mikey! Fancy meetin' you goils in heah." Called a tall, thin, brown-haired man at the bar. A laugh rippled around the room.  
  
"Heya Jeff. I see ya got ya some new arm bands. Hot date tanite?"  
  
More laughter.  
  
"Yeah, wid ya muddah, Ken."  
  
Even more.  
  
Kenneth grinned and took a booth with Issac and Mike. Issac slid in next to Ken and grabbed a menu from across the table.  
  
"Mind ya mannahs boys!" Bailey leaned over his seat and tapped Issac on his blond head with a fork.  
  
"Speak fa yaself, Bails! We all saw watcha did ta dat towel!"  
  
Bailey laughed good-naturedly and returned to his meal.  
  
Michael took off his coat, throwing it over the back of his seat, revealing his ever-famous pink shirt.  
  
Anthony appeared in the doorway suddenly, grinding the last of his ciggarette into the ground before entering. "Ya evah gonna give up dat shirt, Micks?"  
  
"For a buck, I might. Why, you want it?"  
  
Anthony smiled and shook his head. "No thanks, I got plenty 'a shirts 'a me own." He grabbed a lone chair and sat backwards in it at the end of Frank and Paolo's table. "Heya boys." He leaned sideways as Sarah returned with Jack's food. The two exchanged more silent dialogue and she dissapeared back into the kitchen.  
  
Anthony and Paolo exchanged a look of their own.  
  
"What?" Frank smiled innocently.  
  
The entire diner suddenly went silent. Frank turned in his chair to face the door.  
  
Brigham stood there, steel blue eyes roaming, his usual smirk in place. The smirk broke into a smile, and the tension in the room lifted. "How's it rollin'?" He called.  
  
"Heya Brig!" Shouted Conway, one of the youngest drivers around the parts. "Heard you got Entenman's!"  
  
A chuckle went through the crowd.  
  
"Yeah." He laughed. "I did." Brigham wandered to the counter and sat at his spot between Jeff and Marcello. "Hiya Marcs, how goes it?"  
  
The dark-haired boy shrugged and sipped his coffee causually.  
  
"Talkative one, as always."  
  
Marcello nodded and went back to his mug.  
  
Brigham leaned over the counter a bit. "Sarah!" He looked over his shoulder. "Where's Sarah?"  
  
Frank looked up. "She went into da kitchen jus' before ya came in. Goil mus' have some kinda radar." He grinned widely.  
  
"Ha, ha Sullivan."  
  
"Hey, I t'ought it was funny."  
  
"You would."  
  
The bell above the diner's door rang once again, signaling the entrance of the group's most innocent, and sharpest driver.  
  
Dave and his brother Levi came through the door.  
  
"Heya Dave, Levi!" Frank nodded. "Sarah's in da back if ya wondrin'."  
  
"Thanks Frank. Hey guys!"  
  
Levi waved at Frank before scampering to his table with Conway and Ryan.  
  
Dave sat at the bar.  
  
Corey came through the kitchen door, tying his apron as he walked. Or rather, hobbled. Corey couldn't be a driver, due to his knee, {which had been hurt badly in a childhood accident} so he worked as a waiter at the diner with Sarah.  
  
"Corey!" Came the uprorious cry from the diners.  
  
"Lil late dere, pal?"  
  
Corey blushed and ran a hand over his curly hair, grabbing a pencil from behind his ear. "Yeah. Up late las' nite an' all."  
  
Brigham smirked mischeviously. "I bet I know why." He nearly sang out.  
  
"I'll bet we all know why." Robert joined in, having just come through the door; Daniel on his heels. He said his hellos and went to his table. Rob ran a hand through his sandy brown hair and fell into a seat, tired from the day's work. Daniel, who seemingly never tired, sat as well, his dark curls bouncing playfully. He stretched his strong arms out in front of him like a cat and popped his thick neck.  
  
Anthony stood and whirled his chair around. "Gotta go fellas. Me posse's heah."  
  
Over on the other side of the diner, Benjamin approached the counter, having been hid mostly in the shadows the entire evening. He mumbled something to Corey behind the front counter and stood causually, leaning against it, his brown hair falling into his eyes. Benjaming was a quiet man, and many people didn't know much about him. He was strong, that was what everyone knew. He was legendary for his strength, and equally as famous for his silence.  
  
Another silent driver, was Pietro. One of the few Italian drivers, he was a mystery. He sat in the back booth, silent as he watched his friends. The rest all knew that in the right mood, Pietro could be the wildest of them all. Why, just last week he was jumping over meters and shouting randomly. But for now, he was silent.  
  
The evening passed quickly.  
  
The drivers slowly filed out of the diner: mostly in groups, but a few alone. The stars were just beginning to show themselves, and some of the younger drivers were heading home to be with their families.  
  
Frank inhaled sharply on his cigarette, then blew smoke circles into the air. "Big Joe'll get mad if we're not back on time wid da invoices." He reminded his friends nonchalantly.  
  
Anthony nodded slowly, shoving his hands in his pockets.  
  
Paolo stared at the ground.  
  
Daniel and Robert gave up stalling and headed to their respective trucks.  
  
It was this way every week. No one ever wanted to go back to real life again. They all wanted to stay. To be free. To be kids again; without bosses, or jobs, or obligations.  
  
"Wouldn't want Bruno an' Roger ta have a caniption...dey already have a tough time as it is. Countin' orders is hard woik. Bettah head on back." Frank said, not moving.  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Oo, I'd hate that."  
  
Corey stood on the small staircase, a towle slung over one shoulder. The truckers were always the last rush. It would be a quiet night. He smiled gently. "No loiterin', now." He waved th towel at them. "Get along lil doggies. Crazy kids." He muttered jokingly on his way back inside.  
  
Each man waved good-bye to his friends, and hopped into his truck. Frank and Brigham were the last to leave. Frank threw his cigarette butt on the ground, not bothering to grind it into the gravel.  
  
Brigham stuck out his hand. "Until next time, Frankie-boy."  
  
"'Til next time, Rovah."  
  
The two shook on it, then smiled in spite of themselves.  
  
Brigham climbed into the cab of his semi and honked the horn as softly as he could. Which wasn't very.  
  
Frank laughed as Corey appeared at the diner's window, shaking his head. He glanced up at the sign: Kloppman's Truckstop and Diner. It was a sign full of memories.  
  
Frank hopped in his truck and drove off. 


End file.
